The Weight of Darkness (Catalyst Book 5)

by C. J. Aaron

  He understood the meaning. He had suffered through the festival-like attitude that had descended on The Stocks once per cycle. Though diffused here, the sensation was still the same. It sent a chill through his body.

  With little to see with his eyes, Ryl maintained an unbroken view of the surroundings with his mindsight. Aside from the glow of his companions close to his person, the city that surrounded them was clear. The darkness that had lingered at the outskirts of his vision began to take shape. The tingling in his left arm had remained constant since he’d acquired the single vial of the Blessing. The pinprick of discomfort against his skin, the throbbing sensation in his arm mounted rapidly as they neared the source.

  Still, the Lei Guard didn’t move.

  Their hesitation was troubling. He was knowingly leading them into a trap, relying on the negating strength in his veins to tip the scales in their favor.

  “We’re approaching the capital; be ready.” Andr poked his head through the thick curtains. “There is a significant force of soldiers guarding the gate.”

  The wagon slowed as they neared the gate. Directly in front of the entrance to the capital complex, the line of houses ceased. A spacious stone courtyard stretched one hundred meters to either side. The sprawling square was lined with finely crafted benches and planters containing uniquely manicured plants. Despite the openness and elegance of the square, Ryl could see few people milling about. A concave line of guards, two deep, stretched from the gate to the corner of the area.

  Behind the soldiers, the inner wall bordered the square. Unlike the previous walls that separated the city’s diverse sections, the barrier here was far more substantial. Though it was hard to compare it with the palisade, the fortifications that defended The Stocks, it still maintained some semblance of defense. A tower with crenulated turrets rose above the gate. The two panels of the looming door, riveted and reinforced with large strips of metal, were closed, blocking all views of the interior of the palatial complex. Faces, though shadowed, were visible, peering out of every opening with watchful eyes. Guards lined the walkway atop the structure. Though armed, none had their weapons at the ready. A pair of towers, though much smaller than the central one, loomed at opposite corners of the open square.

  Ramm steered the wagon, making an easy turn to their right as they reached the center of the clearing. The steady clop of the horses’ shoes on the stone seemed to be the only noise present as they neared the guard. Ryl felt the tension grow. Through the thin gap in the curtain, he could clearly see the faces of the guards who ringed the area. They followed their approach with uneasy stares. A whisper of doubt crept into his mind.

  The lone voice of a guard called them to a halt as they moved into the shadow of the gate.

  “We escort Lord Kyoris’s ladies,” Cavlin announced as they ground to a stop. “We must meet his lordship straight away.”

  The silence extended for a few intolerable moments. Anxiety grew in Ryl’s core. The alexen churned with emotion, stoking the fires that spread heat throughout his veins. They were agitated, though prepared. The malevolent whispers grew, though the energy that coursed through him quickly silenced their calls.

  “You’re late,” came the sole reply. The voice dripped with authority, though a touch of arrogance colored his tone as he enjoyed his vaulted station. “The Deliverance has nearly begun.”

  “Apologies, sir,” Cavlin responded. His tone was placating, yet urgent. “We arrived late yesterday and were housed outside the inner circle due to lack of suitable accommodations. The commotion of the fire delayed our arrival. Please do not make our lordship suffer our tardiness any longer. The rider can attest to our delay.”

  Ryl made out distinct noises of conversation, though the words were garbled and unintelligible owing to the ambient noise in the air. The verdict was rendered with little delay, though the lingering hints of the forced emotion from the phrenic drivers was easy to note.

  “Carry on,” the guard grumbled before calling to his companions manning the gate above. The grinding of metal chain links over stone and the groaning of the heavy doors elicited long-suppressed emotions as the distinctive sounds triggered memories of his first experiences in The Stocks.

  Phrenics at the gates.

  The call today would be vastly different than that which had echoed, bringing news of his deposit to the prison that would define his life.

  How long had it been since a phrenic had strode through this opening of their own volition? Was the last occasion the event that spelled their eventual doom?

  Ryl closed his eyes, breathing deep to pacify the agitation that coursed through his veins. Both he and the power that lingered within understood the significance.

  The ancient phrenics had been deceived. They had been lured by false promises and the hope that the good in humanity would stand the test of time. They had been betrayed by one of their own. Greed hadn’t overlooked the opportunity to sink its teeth into one of the phrenics.

  Leiroth had relished the power. It had driven him to madness; the lust for control had defined generations. How many innocent victims had perished at his hands?

  Ryl and his companions arrived today at the head of a storm. Long had the embers of change smoldered. Today, they would set the kingdom ablaze.

  What was to rise from the ashes would be decided by the actions of a few.

  The sudden brightness of the sun caused his eyes to open. Once through the shadow of the gate, the light of the early morning was unrestricted by the wall of stone. Inside the confines of the palatial grounds, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The anticipatory sensation that had coated the first circle of the city had morphed as it crossed the stone barrier. Within the innermost circle, an undeniable air of excitement electrified the air. Sounds of gleeful conversation and merriment rose from all sides of the wagon, drowning out the heavy clop of hooves and the rattle of the wheels on the stone. Ryl’s stomach churned at the dramatic shift in emotion.

  It was a challenge to resist the intoxicating revelry that dominated the mood. Careful not to reveal their identity, he pulled the blinds open with a finger, granting a partially unobstructed view of the palace grounds. He had no doubt that the sprawling interior featured the most elaborate design and creation that the kingdom had to offer. Statues of men and women, in varied poses, graced the expansive courtyard. They luxuriated in the center of fountains that sprayed a fine mist into the air. Valiant heroes posed, impervious to the threats of war, for the artist’s chisel. Their effigies were scattered across the vast tracts of green that covered much of the interior.

  The plaza they traversed was wide, easily one hundred meters from side to side. To Ryl’s side, the gardens and terraces stretched out until they met with the decorative edges of the wall. Guards stood tall along the pinnacle of the barrier. They were dressed in finery more suited to the lords and ladies who milled about under their watch. Servants, clad in all white, carried trays of food and beverage, weaving in and out of the staggered parties who mingled openly throughout the grounds. How many truly understood the truth behind their celebration? Did they understand what it was that they celebrated?

  Murder.

  Slavery.

  Torture.

  The life of a child.

  He fought back the bile that threatened to force its way up his throat. He wrinkled his nose as the hints of the acidic taste tormented his senses. His gaze travelled out the gap in the opposite window, noting the similarities in the spacious design. To the opposite side, however, the green space was interrupted by the massive facades of the capital buildings. At the edge of the roadway, a seemingly endless line of carriages were positioned front to back. At the head of each, a similarly clad porter dressed in white held the reins, his posture rigid, his pose statuesque.

  The lighthearted nature of the revelers spread like a curse throughout the area. The air was poisoned by the elation, the anticipatory sensation. The promise of the so-called Blessing had encouraged their greed. Th
ere were seemingly none here who was unaffected by its allure. The call of the darkness from within the deep recesses of his mind grew as the tingling in his arm increased to a steady thrum.

  The picture painted by the mindsight had altered. No longer did the black mass tease the outskirts of his vision, writhing like a mass of shadows in the distance. There was definitive form to the signatures now. The shadows remained grouped tightly together, concealing their true number in a solitary mass of charcoal shadows. Even so, every now and then a solitary figure, nothing more than a dark mist, flitted at the edge before being sucked back into the host.

  The sensation of dread grew within his core.

  It was a feeling he had experienced before. It hammered his will with an overwhelming sensation that offered little option. It was panic that threatened two choices, either freeze or flee. His mind struggled against the onslaught. He had experienced the premonition before. It wasn’t a direct assault, merely the hatred that exuded from their corrupted cores. The amplified sensation of the nexela stained the air, choking the clean freshness with the foul undertones of misery and death. He understood the worst was yet to come.

  The Lei Guard knew he was close. They knew the phrenics were close.

  Even though their numbers were severely reduced, their assault would be devastating.

  Ryl turned his focus to his companions inside the wagon. The three unawakened were grouped together in the middle of the carriage. Tash and Palon sat side by side; Cray sat opposite the pair. The expressions on their faces reflected a common denominator.

  Fear.

  Uncertainty.

  Vox met his gaze. Though his eyes were hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, he could read the concern written across the phrenic’s face.

  “The avenue exits the main courtyard shortly,” Andr whispered through the gap in the curtains. “The road on either side dips below the grand pathway above. Ready yourselves. We are close. There’s no turning back now.”

  Ryl swallowed the uncomfortable lump that had formed in his throat. He focused on the party that surrounded him, pulsing out a wave of the most potent emotion he understood.

  Hope.

  Together they would strive to change the fate of the world.

  He closed the curtains, focusing again on the mindsight, allowing the skill to paint an image in his mind. His heartbeat raced as he noted the faint discrepancies in the signatures. The mass of shadows had shifted, though they remained tightly packed together. A new shape had formed before them, though its appearance was as perplexing as it was concerning. The wisps of darkness were light and airy. They seemed to move together; as a whole they seemed to shift, pressing further away from the approaching phrenics. From a distance, they appeared to be an extension of the main group, yet as they approached, it was clear that they were situated apart from the mass, well below the plane of the others.

  While the oppressive hatred and fear was palpable from the main group, the collective consciousness of the other appeared vastly different. It was pensive.

  Fear exuded from the shifting mist below.

  Ryl had little time to ponder the meaning as the sight of the second shape commanded his attention.

  The alexen in his veins screamed in protest, the anger burned white hot, scorching his insides. At first, he thought the vision was nothing more than a trick of the light, a confusion of his senses amidst the churning mass of shadow. With every meter closer, the truth became apparent through the darkness. At the center of the seething mass of blackened signatures, a solitary flicker of light remained.

  “The tribute,” he hissed. “They’ve brought the child here.”

  Chapter 43

  Ryl had barely noted as the wagon descended from the even keel of the main courtyard. His attention was focused on the solitary shape struggling in the midst of the sea of shadows. The flicker of light struggled to the forefront, shining for a moment before being swallowed by the darkness that surrounded it.

  “The tributes have never played a part in the Deliverance proceedings,” Vox added skeptically. “Why now?”

  The shock written across the faces of Cray, Tash and Palon was mixed with that of anger. He could feel it slipping from the trio of unawakened in unmitigated waves. Internally, Ryl matched the revulsion and animosity.

  “The family was likely given little choice.” Ryl’s voice was a hollow growl. “The kingdom has no doubt claimed the tribute as their own. No compensation will be needed when there are no survivors left breathing. Lord Kagran needs support now; he can ill afford a wayward tribute.”

  Andr rapped his hand on the top of the wagon before whispering through the curtains.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  Ryl scanned the faces of all inside the chamber as he focused on the illusion.

  “This ends today.” No response was needed from his companions. Icy determination registered across their faces. The flames of animosity that had burned with a withering intensity appeared like nothing more than candles, flickering to sustain the overwhelming emotion.

  The sunlight that had brightened the interior of the wagon dimmed as the heavy carriage rolled to a stop. Outside, the flickering glow of torches provided unnatural illumination. Ryl viewed the illusion that he’d created with skeptical eyes. He’d studied the illustrious garments of the lord’s harem. A strange sensation of warmth spread through his veins as the alexen inside contributed to the ruse. He pulled from the experience of the phrenic master dressmakers, weavers, and tailors who’d departed this world more than a millennium prior.

  The illusion was dramatic. The six were covered from head to foot in flowing dresses encrusted with jewels. Each wore a veil over their face, disguising their true features. Long locks of hair flowed freely, falling over their shoulders. The illusion, though effective, toyed with his senses. The clothing that covered his body carried no weight; there was no feeling of the fabric brushing against his skin. The strands of amber hair that lay over his shoulder shifted as he moved his head, yet he felt nothing from their motion.

  The wagon shifted, the wood groaning in relief as the two phrenic drivers climbed from the bench at the driver’s seat. Their heavy footsteps rounded the carriage toward where Andr had been positioned. He knew that the others would be falling in line as well.

  The door to the carriage opened, streaming in light from the palace beyond. Andr stood to the right, offering a subtle bow, returning upright, holding out his hand to assist the exiting passengers. Ryl watched as Lenu descended from the wagon first. Her formfitting dress, like the others, was primarily red, the dominant color of Lord Kyoris’s house, though unique from the others and accented by varying accessories and stitching of complementary gold and jewels.

  Her appearance was natural. She waited with her hands crossed before her as the others piled out of the wagon with the most grace they could impart. Though Ryl had cloaked them in the trappings of women of the court, there was nothing he could do to completely disguise their figures. They would likely make for an unsightly group if afforded detailed scrutiny.

  They exited the wagon to a wide, covered chamber; on either side the roadway angled upward as it curved back toward the great courtyard they’d crossed. The wall before him was constructed entirely of smoothed white marble, a large two-paneled door stood open several meters from where they had exited the wagon. Gold lanterns hung from either side of the door, illuminating the shadow under the bridge that stretched overhead. A pair of white-clad ushers rushed to the wagon, collecting the reins as the solitary official moved to greet them.

  The palace official failed to hide the incredulous sneer at the appearance of the motley crew of women who spilled from Lord Kyoris’s wagon.

  “Our drivers will take your wagon from here, sirs,” the man added before turning to address the ladies. He offered a deep bow. “As you know, men-at-arms will not be permitted inside the Hall of the King. They can escort you to the doors; then they will take their leave. The auditorium oppos
ite the hallowed chamber has been made available to them, as are the palace grounds. The accommodations will no doubt suffice, and refreshments will be served.”

  His official-sounding voice grated on Ryl’s nerves. The condescending superiority in his tone was unnerving.

  “Ladies, you may enter the Hall of the King without delay,” he added. “They will be starting any moment. Lord Kyoris has been quite dismayed at your tardiness; he will no doubt seek your company with haste.”

  Lenu offered a crude curtsy.

  “Thank you, sir.” Her voice sang with a quality he’d never heard from the Vigil commander.

  “This way, if you please.” The official bowed again as he strode forward toward the open palace doors.

  Their entourage fell into line as they moved into the interior of the palace. Cavlin and Andr took the lead while the others disguised as Lord Kyoris’s guards—Paelec, Millis, Dav and Nielix—marched in pairs on either side of the ladies. Ramm and Paasek, dressed in civilian clothes, strode menacingly at their rear. If any noticed the massive weapons strapped to their backs, they were reticent in their questioning.

  Ryl’s eyes wandered as they entered the palace, though his focus remained on the illusion that cloaked their bodies. He cared little for the displays of opulence that encrusted each facet of the palace. Gold seemed to be weaved into everything, from the tapestries and paintings on the walls, to the fixtures on the doors, down to the thin lines that weaved through the polished, reflective white floor. Guards stood at attention before every opening, though they paid little mind to the traffic in the hall. The sounds of their group’s footsteps on the stone floor echoed through the chamber.